


Past Does Not Define Present

by Guardian_Rose



Series: Together We're Golden [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A touch angsty but not like crying worthy, Children, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, doubts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 20:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guardian_Rose/pseuds/Guardian_Rose
Summary: “Don’t give it to Aziraphale. He’d drop it.”Three pairs of eyes latch onto him and Crowley processes his own words. Repeating them back in his head. His eyes widen and he scoots his chair further round the circular table, away from Aziraphale who looks more affronted than hurt which is good. The Scotts however look both confused and hurt for Aziraphale.“I would not!” Aziraphale snaps. “Anyway, you’re the one who drove with a baby in a basket at ridiculous speeds then was confused as to why it cried so much.”“Once! It was handed to me in that basket! What did you expect me to do? Carry it in my lap whilst driving?” Crowley leans forward on one elbow, pointing.





	Past Does Not Define Present

“We’re going to have a baby.”

Crowley’s spluttering is fortunately overshadowed by Aziraphale’s gleeful congratulations. He sets his cup back onto the table and readjusts his glasses just to have something to do with his hands. Mrs Scott, the farmer, is somehow now holding hands with both Aziraphale across the table and Mrs Scott, whisky eyes, next to her. It’s like something out of a staged photo and Crowley blames his next sentence on a moment of insanity.

“Don’t give it to Aziraphale. He’d drop it.” 

Three pairs of eyes latch onto him and Crowley processes his own words. Repeating them back in his head. His eyes widen and he scoots his chair further round the circular table, away from Aziraphale who looks more affronted than hurt which is good. The Scotts however look both confused and hurt for Aziraphale.

“I would not!” Aziraphale snaps. “Anyway, you’re the one who drove with a baby in a basket at ridiculous speeds then was confused as to why it cried so much.”

“Once! It was handed to me in that basket! What did you expect me to do? Carry it in my lap whilst driving?” Crowley leans forward on one elbow, pointing. “You were the one who gave Warlock a million and one splinters making him build insect houses.”

“It was his own fault for messing around with the wood, he was splintering it into pieces because you told him to squash bugs!”

“He broke his arm trying to rescue a cat from the roof when the cat was just sleeping because you told him to care for all animals.”

“I thought he’d realise that included himself.”

“What is happening right now?” Mrs Scott, whisky eyes, asks; her and her wife have been watching the exchange like a tennis match, becoming increasingly more baffled with every accusation thrown. “Who on earth names their child Warlock? Who let you guys  _ near  _ them?”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale wince, sharing a look. 

“Americans name their child Warlock,” Crowley offers at last with a one shoulder shrug, “they’re just like that.”

“We uh worked on an estate, Warlock was an only child so we saw him a lot.” Aziraphale added, smiling unconvincingly.

Mrs Scott and Mrs Scott share a similar look as the men had just shared. “Oh? What were you doing?”

“Gardening,” Aziraphale says at the same time that Crowley says, “Was his nanny”. 

“Oh.”

Mrs Scott, red-haired farmer, crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, looking them both over. “Would’ve thought it’d be the other way round.”

“I called dibs.” Aziraphale’s smile is a touch smug at this, Crowley kicks at his ankle and then leaves his foot there, resting. 

“How long were you working there?”

“Eleven years,” they say at the same time. 

Crowley clears his throat and sips at his drink again, glaring at the smirking Scotts over the rim. Aziraphale tucks into another cheese scone.

“So you’ll be great for when we need you to babysit then.”

Crowley, deep down, had been expecting that and didn’t make a mess of himself this time. Aziraphale however let out a nervous laugh and looked to Crowley with a slight panicky glint.

“Babysitting?”

“For when we have date nights or need to go out of town. You two are our closest, most trusted friends.” Mrs Scott, farmer, says with a genuine smile. 

“In fact,” Mrs Scott, whisky and sugar with a pinch of spice, says nervously, “we were uh thinking of asking you two to be godfathers.”

Neither of them say anything. The clock ticks on the wall. Crowley slurps his drink and refuses to let his body instinctively blush in embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to decide right now, of course. It’s just…”

“We’d really appreciate it. We think you’d be great and we’ve known you for a couple years now. I would say we know you very well.”

“We’ll leave it with ya, for a while. It’ll be an age before the adoption paperwork goes through anyway so you have time.”

Crowley nods for them both, watching Aziraphale stare off past his half-eaten scone out of the corner of his eye.

***

Crowley is in bed by ten and dozing off by eleven which just so happens to be when Aziraphale decides to try his hand at sleeping. The main light stays off, the angel only turning on the dim lamp on his side of the bed with a flick of his wrist. The curtains are wide open to let the breeze in from the window. It’s overcast outside, Crowley had been trying to lull himself to sleep by counting the stars that would pop out occasionally. Now, he rolls over as quietly as possible (not quietly or slowly enough to avoid Aziraphale’s notice) and rests his head in the crook of his elbow, watching his angel. 

Aziraphale takes his time. Manually undoing every button. Folding every item of clothing before putting them on the chair in the corner by the drawers. There’s a framed photo of them on those drawers, taken by Pepper when the Them had come down for a visit to their cottage. Crowley loves that picture. Aziraphale looking up at him with the softest, most affectionate smile in his eyes whilst Crowley, one arm around his angel’s shoulders, glared at Pepper behind the camera. Aziraphale is looking at the picture now, down to only his tartan pyjama bottoms.

“Angel,” he whispers, Aziraphale doesn’t hear him. “Zira.”

The lamp glows a bit brighter as Aziraphale turns to face him, arms wrapped around his stomach. Crowley pushes himself up and hold his hands out, a silent request and an implicit offering. Aziraphale smiles softly, tentatively, and crawls onto the bed, taking Crowley’s hands in his and letting the demon pull him in close until the angel is straddling his thighs.

One of Crowley’s hands breaks away to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “What’s wrong, angel?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale says, looking at Crowley’s chin instead of his eyes. 

“Angel,” Crowley repeats reverently, like a prayer if ever he spoke one.

Aziraphale lifts Crowley’s hand to press his lips against his knuckles, he holds his hand there. Crowley lets him. Waits patiently for the words to come.

“We weren’t good godfathers before. And we’d have to leave them, when they realise that we’re not...not aging.”

“Or not,” Crowley suggests softly, “we could tell them. It’s been done before.”

“You don’t think they’d freak out? Treat us differently?”

Crowley shakes his head, wrapping his hands round Aziraphale’s waist to tug him closer. Aziraphale curls up in response, sliding down a little to bury his head under Crowley’s chin, ear over the demon’s heartbeat. 

“I don’t think they would.”

“We’d be dreadful parents.”

“Good job we’d just be strange uncles then.” 

Aziraphale huffs a tired laugh at this and Crowley shifts them so they’re lying down. He presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. 

“I’m not very good with children.”

“I’m not very good with adults,” Crowley says, “we’ll balance each other out.”

***

They take the Scotts out for lunch a few days later. They’re ecstatic.

Crowley hopes they never change, especially when they tell them the truth when the time comes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> No beta, all mistakes my own
> 
> Prompts welcome here and on my writing tumblr [WordToTheRose ](https://wordtotherose.tumblr.com/) or come say hi on my main [Guardian-Rose-Petal](https://guardian-rose-petal.tumblr.com/)


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